


Virgin Maiden

by Sinderlin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Breeding Cycle, Eggs, M/M, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinderlin/pseuds/Sinderlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kankri's vow of celibacy doesn't make sense to Cronus, but it means that he's safe around him, and because he's got the legendary Reformer's blood Cronus' guardians/handlers are happy to let Cronus 'seduce' him into changing his mind, including letting him go to Kankri during his cycles, even if Kankri doesn't breed him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He yawns and puts his feet up on the vanity for all of two seconds before a finely-manicured hand swipes them off. He sighs and taps his fingers on the arms of his chair impatiently. The same smooth hands lift one wrist and slip on several golden bangles while forcing on pure gold rings occasionally inlaid with thick chunks of amethyst. He winces and glares until his face is forcibly turned back toward the mirror. The shapely young woman standing beside him takes a brush from the vanity and gently brushes traces of powder onto his cheeks.

"You have to look good for the meeting tonight. You have to at least LOOK like a respectable, productive member of society," she hisses as she bats his hands away from his face, reapplying a few strokes of powder here and there after wiping his fingers on a handkerchief. "Lord knows what the empress thinks of you already."

"Hey, I'm plenty productive. Just last perigree I /produced/ seven A-grade pilots," he quips with a smirk, narrowly dodging an irritated slap by hopping up and sliding to the opposite side of the chair. "I'd be a lot more productive if that weird guy they keep sending me off to wasn't such a prude. I mean, you only ever hear people saying that sort of thing in really, really trashy romance stuff or in knight and princess stuff. 'I'm saving myself for my one true love! Oh, sir knight, please understand!'" He flutters his eyelashes and clasps his hands together in mockery and then switches into a dumbfounded expression. He throws his hands up in defeat with a groan and flops back into in seat by the vanity.

"Yes, well, he was raised in a different environment from you. He has this thing called personal space, for one," she pauses for emphasis with a lip quirked up, "And quite clearly has not bred before." She drapes a long golden chain about his neck and shoulders and smooths his hair while she has the chance. "There, now. Go look in the mirror. I think I've finally made you presentable, even if hopefully all my work gets tossed off in a fit of passion."

"It's been five meets by now. I'm starting to think he's just not going to budge," he sighs, "And he's such a looker, too." He strolls to the full length mirror in the corner of the room to admire himself. He's bound up in a tastefully modest ensemble with consideration for the selected candidate. His top is black and long-sleeved this time, but with a drop neck that reveals enough grey skin of his chest to identify him as either a breeder or a corner worker. The pants are fitted and only come down to his calves, and even then have a cut up the side held together with leather cord. Only the gold-embroidered sandals and the heavy gold jewelry mark him as anything out of the ordinary. "Gorgeous. Oh, doll, what would I do without you?"

"My name isn't 'doll', it's Porrim. If you have to objectify me, use my title or something," she sighs and presses a hand to her forehead. "Anyways, it's well past dusk. Shouldn't you be going?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll just miss your soothing voice, is all," he snarks as he rings for the escourts and makes for the door. When Porrim rolls her eyes, it's almost audible.

\--

The noise of the low-end housing district hurts your ears and makes you cringe. It almost doesn't seem worth it coming back to this place again and again, with its faulty central heating and the drafts that lick across your face when you least expect it, and the staring faces of people who shouldn't be watching because they don't have permission or the color to let them get away with it, and the waiting makes you ramble and scowl and you hate standing with the guards outside a dull brown door with a faded number on it on the fifth floor in the middle of nowhere. But then it opens. You hurry inside, away from prying eyes. It's better inside.

The inside of the government appointed apartment is sparsely furnished, but he told you he got rid of everything he didn't want around unless the guards told him he had to keep it. Everything is smooth shades of grey lined with black or blue, even the recooperacoon. The couch is overstuffed and the entertainment center is stripped bare. The guards are apparently inside reading or polishing their guns most of the time when you aren't visiting. They were given very strict orders about overseeing him, apparently. His blood probably makes him a target for all sorts of people, and his outspoken equalist ideals probably draw a lot of undue attention as well.

He offers you a seat and you take it with an overfriendly smile that he only partially returns. He sits on the opposite side of the couch and asks benign questions like any good aquaintence would. Over the five times you've met, you've learned a bit about him. His name is Kankri Vantas, he's probably the only mutant redblood in the empire, and his outspoken nature is only rivaled by his strange passion for...avoiding upsetting people, you guess. You tend to zone out after a while of his rants on all the different triggers a person could possibly think of. Last visit, you told him that his rants were triggering you mostly just to see what happened. He had gotten very quiet and looked like he'd just been told he had two weeks to live. You spent the rest of the visit apologizing to him and trying to avoid getting your head bitten off for admitting you weren't entirely serious.

"Cronus, are you listening?" he taps your shoulder with a small frown and you startle back into awareness. You had drifted into that half-asleep land of mumbled answers and vague comprehension at best. You smile and shrug, and he lets out an exasperated sigh. "I was telling you of the state of affairs of a friend of mine and their new matesprit."

"Yeah, right," you nod and pose as if anticipating the continuation of his story. 

"No," he sharply replies, folding his arms across his chest. Wait, what?

"Huh?" you question, furrowing your brows at the unexpected reply. He raises an eyebrow at you and crosses his legs. You stare in confusion for a while before he finally deigns to explain.

"I'm not putting up with any more of these visits. If you want to visit me as a friend, come by any time, but," he cleared his throat and stood up, heading for the door, "I've made myself clear many times before. I'm not interested in sexual meetings." He held the door open and motioned for you to leave. He'd never done this sort of thing before, and it seemed initially strange, but...if he wasn't even going to consider it, why bother staying?

"That's too bad. It was nice to see you again anyways, Kankri," you flash him a smile and briefly shake his hand at the door before leaving him with his unsurprisingly unbewildered guards. You sigh deeply and head back down to the lobby to be escorted back home.

\--

"You're JOKING. And you just walked out?" Another highblood throwing a tantrum. Every superior reacts that way when even the tiniest thing goes wrong.

"I didn't see what else I could do, sir," Cronus replies with a nonchalant shrug, "It's weird as hell, but he's just not at all into it, if you get my drift."

The highblood scoffs and slaps his hand onto the table between them. "As the supervisor for your district, I have to guarantee a certain output from the selected candidates for her Imperious Condescension, you know." Cronus mutters that he put out plenty, to which the highblood responds by throwing his vase of lilies against the wall. "Don't you DARE mock me!" Cronus starts in his seat, rigid-backed and serious at the reminder of who, exactly, held the reigns(and who has a completely ridiculous temper).

"I wasn't mocking you, sir, I only meant to say that I do my duty as a breeder willingly and to the fullest of my capacity for the empire," he intones flatly. The highblood's angry snarl quiets into a small sneer as he pulls a sheaf of paper from a drawer in the desk and shoves it at Cronus.

"Direct orders from MY superior. That redblood is still in season, and you are to pursue him 'to the fullest of your capacity'," he warns gravely, "Or else." He slams the desk drawer shut to emphasize his point, making Cronus flinch and shrink in his chair. 

After being shown out of the highblood's office, Cronus spends the next two hours in the bath and refuses to come out until Porrim offers to massage his back.

\--

The moons are hardly peering over the horizon at you when you leave this time. It's only been one night, but papercuts and broken glass had a way of changing your mind. Your lungs feel overfull and the air seems stagnant. You don't want to be a bad person; to be hated. Death isn't something you relish, either; neither yours nor anyone else's. You have no doubt you would walk away from any denial with nothing more than a slap and a scolding. After all, you are an asset to the empire babied since you hatched. No matter how rare a blood is, though...What the empire can't get without consent they'll happily wring out with chemicals and methods and you think that the mere thought of that is a huge trigger. It's funny that you've only really spent five days and change with him, but you remember the terms he uses so easily. Trigger, trans-gender, trans-species, otherkin, orientation, dis-associative, elitist, casteist...and lots of other words you didn't understand as well.

The building is shabby on the outside, and most of the inside isn't much better. The candidates' rooms in most places like this are quite nice, though. The guards are not outside the door to greet you, which isn't surprising. Usually they'd be notified, but you decided to take the first step to make up for all the wasted time, meaning that you're knocking on his door outside of scheduled visiting hours...as a friend. A friend in fitted jeans and a sleeveless shirt that shows off your midriff, but a friend nonetheless. 

He's more than a little surprised to see you on his welcome mat, but he eagerly herds you inside his apartment and into the miniature kitchen. He offers you a cup of coffee, and you take it along with some sugar and creamer while he drinks it black. You guess he keeps that stuff around specifically for guests. You stand sipping coffee in relative silence for a long while, when you hear a toilet flushing and watch one of his assigned guards leaving the restroom down the hall. The guard looks at you suspiciously for a moment, then chooses to ignore you and go back to the guest room. You make a mental note to either recommend retraining or a raise.

"So, I'm assuming that you've come back in order to take up the offer of a metaphorical, or literal, if the need arises, shoulder to lean on?" Kankri fixed his gaze on you and set his cup on the counter beside the small sink. "I understand that many trolls are forced into the lifestyle of producing clutches of rare psychic traits, impressive abilities, rare bloods, or those the empress likes. Forgive my forwardness, but being raised in that kind of environment could be seriously psychologically damaging. I also hear they are mostly cut off from the outside world, and therefore don't necessarily understand the severity of the situation. Can you confirm or deny any of this? I'd like to be aware of what is and is not the truth of the matter, and I'd also like to talk about any problems you have, especially with such a stressful environment and the imposed servitude." You gaped at him for a moment and laughed. When he raised an eyebrow, you waved your hand dismissively.

"It's perfectly fine! Yeah, I did get plucked out of the caves early for the whole breeder shtick, but I can pretty much do whatever I want whenever I want. It's really not a bad deal, but I do have to say carrying around a load of eggs is my least favorite part of the job," you chuckle as he watches you. A dark look crosses his face and he shakes his head. He looks like he's about to launch into a rant, so you speak up first. "I answered your question, so you answer one of mine. What the hell is with this 'celibacy' thing? I can respect the whole social justice thing, but...Why the virgin mother grub? I just...don't..." you trail off as the dark looks comes back and sticks. You wish you'd asked about his sweater or something.

"It's not just social justice, it's social equalism. Everyone wishes to be treated fairly and to live without fear or oppression. The vow of chastity I adhere to is a manifest I have chosen both because I am not comfortable with sexualized scenarios and because lack of infatuation allows me to better understand the world around me and see all related parties without 'rose tinted glasses' or anything similar. It's also a statement relating to my desire for all people to be equal and for no one person to be favored over anyone else. As a final addendum, I add that sex does not have to exist in a relationship in order for true love to exist," he snapped, arms akimbo, "I've laid out a more detailed argument than the one I set before you on our first, second, and third meetings. You've been raised in such an environment that you simply can't comprehend these reasons, or quickly dismiss them, and I acknowledge that, and I would like for you in return to acknowledge that I simply neither have to nor want to perform intercourse." You seem to have accidentally settled on awkward smile as your default expression. He's waiting for you to respond, though, so you rub the back of your neck uncomfortably under his serious scrutiny and nod. "Thank you. I appreciate your understanding. I have some books, which unfortunately do contain some themes which may be considered triggering, that you can peruse while you are here."

"I'm not huge on books. Do you have games or something we could play?" You note the lack of televisions in his apartment with marked sourness and consider just hightailing it back home. No, you're a good friend, you think to yourself, and you will stay even if he only has handhelds.

"I have some lovely forest puzzles," he suggests. Oh my god, you think, I have just found the most boring person in the universe.


	2. Chapter 2

He picks at his teeth with a fork until he notices jade-shaded eyes glaring at him from across the table. He smirks and lets his fork clatter onto the plate from his open hand. Half-eaten strips of bacon are arranged like a wreath around the fork, ornamented with crumbs of toast and clumps of egg. The other servants had already eaten and come out from the adjoining servant's dining room and filed past. He sighs listlessly and tries to put his feet up on the table, but stops short at the angry tutting from his...trainer? groomer? Her official title is Handler for the time being, but it makes it sound like he's a wild animal. He would like to call her his friend eventually, if she didn't hate his guts sooner or later, if not already.

"If you're done eating, clean up. The Highland General has unexpectedly gone into season, and you need to head out before the load spoils," Porrim explains as she folds her napkin and heads for the door. She turns to him and cocks her head. "What, are you pouting? Does his chastity vow bruise your ego?"

"No, I just..." Cronus pushes his plate away and slouches in his chair. "It's a weird feeling. He won't do it. It's not like it means anything, does it? I mean, all he has to do is just fill one pail and then he's free to go back to doing his own thing and the empire will still protect him from whoever might want to hurt him. It's a win-win deal. It doesn't even take long. You just say 'hey how you doin', get in, get out, and you walk away."

"That's how it is for breeders," she slowly replies, watching his face in profile, "Most people have to build relationships before they can even think of getting that intimate with someone." He laughs and tosses a knife at the wall, pumping a fist when it sticks into the wood with a twang.

"You people are ridiculous." He grins at her mockingly and rests his head in his hand. "I hate the Highland General. He's so rough. The empress would have his head on a platter if he ruined me."

\--

It has been another two nights since you last saw Kankri Vantas. You're on an official visit again, even though you can't exactly re-fertilize a developing batch of eggs. You guess they want to make sure the two of you make nice. You'll have gotten rid of the currently incubating clutch by the time his next cycle rolls around anyhow. He stares at you over a cup of tea with an expression you can only describe as waiting. Your outfit must be the reason.

"Uh, sorry about the strange clothes. I got a little banged up, so we decided it would be best to bundle up," you casually pluck at the loose folds of the collar of your draping shroud. It isn't actually a shroud, but being wrapped up in so much fabric makes it feel like it must be. It's actually just a loose cashmere sweater and tightly fit jeans, but you feel far too overheated in the ensemble. "I know it's a little odd, but we had an emergency meeting set up a while ago. The guy has this obnoxious tendency to play rough, you know." His eyebrows raise, but he says nothing. "Don't worry, he gets reprimanded just about every time. I don't know what the empire would do without its best breeder, you know?"

His hands had tensed up when you said 'just about', and they weren't relaxing. It takes you a good minute to notice his jaw was clenched shut with every ounce of will he had, given the twitching in his temples. You notice that while you were gesturing your sleeves had slid up. You smooth them back down with a smile and pretend that he hadn't seen thick bruises in the shapes of fingers around your wrists. "Sometimes people get a little excited. Cycles can be very fun," you say with a coy smile.  
You hear his teeth grind as he opens his mouth.

"It's unacceptable."

"What?" You blink, still smiling. He looks grave and angry. You think for a moment and flush purple. "No, no! I'd really rather not say so, but I actually kind of like it...It's just so funny to see him get in trouble, is all." You're lying to his face, but only a little. You don't mind strong hands or sharp nails, but the things he says make you wish you could claw his throat out. Kankri seems to visibly relax, though.

"I see..." He mutters, still grasping his cup of tea with no regard for the bone china. You reach out and gently take it from him, setting it by the finished puzzle on the coffee table. It's the same one you did with him the last time you were here, and you wonder if he left it there on purpose. His hands are cold. He doesn't seem to have much else to say. "Please do let me know if you ever need someone to talk to." His face radiates sincerity and you feel sick to your stomach. You sit on the couch in silence for half an hour before you abruptly get up and leave.

The teacup is still by the finished puzzle when you go.

\--  
PORRIM POV SWITCHUP

 

You can hear him crying in the bathroom. Again. Every other time he gets assigned to a cruel highblood he ends up here with his head between his knees and his hands braided up in his hair. You knock and hear the expected whisper of 'get lost' through the door. You knock again and feel a shampoo bottle hitting the door, accompanied by a shriek of "I SAID GET LOST". You hear loud sobbing and sniffing and open the door anyways. He screams at you to go away, don't look, get out, don't touch me, but you wrap your arms around him and hush him until he's just whimpering against your chest. You see vomit by the toilet, which means you'll have to get the maids again. You tell him that everything that cruel man said was a lie and that he's beautiful and kind and smart and tell him you won't report this breakdown either.

You help him clean up and get into clean clothes before you slip off to the supervisor's office and close the door behind you.

"Sir, we need to talk about that highblood you keep agreeing to send him to." You don't take a seat even when he motions for you to.

"We already did." He's irritated with you, drumming his fingers on the desk.

"You didn't listen. Clearly things are much worse than they appeared. I move to have this general blacklisted as an abusive breed-monger," you state and plant a hand on his desk. He snorts and you slam down your other hand. "He's forcing the best breeder on Beforus into cycles of mental breakdowns by tormenting him and then requesting him at every possible opening. If you do not blacklist him, I will inform your direct superiors that you intend to let the brood quality degrade and move for your dismissal." He scowls at you and opens a binder on his desk. He flips through a few pages before picking the binder up and holding it in front of your face.

"This is the rank of the general in position to both you and myself, according to both standing and finances. He can buy appointments whenever he wants," he informs you coldly, snapping the binder closed again. "Good luck getting desk clerks to get rid of him."

"Looks like I'll be contacting Her Imperious Condescension myself. It's lucky that we happen to have grown close over the last few sweeps, isn't it?" you sneer at him as you head for the door. He stares at you with a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on his brow already. It looks like your semi-bluff is working, unlike all your other attempts to reason with him. You toss your hair over your shoulder defiantly and leave the room to hunt down Cronus and eat ice-cream with him and maybe watch a few military drama movies.

\--

"He's out of season by now," Porrim calls down the hall toward the retreating figure of Cronus. They haven't had an assigned visit for nearly a perigree, and now it feels like he could use someone to talk to. She sighs as she hears the front door close. It's almost like watching a child learning to walk, for her. When he falls, she hurries over to help him up and looks on as he shuffles on again. When he trips and scrapes his knee, she comes running to bandage the scratch and wipe away the tears. She doesn't mind, but seeing someone like that stumbling over their own feet down a hallway in the middle of a mansion filled with other people who didn't care if he was alive or dead as long as he kept on walking breaks her heart. 

\--

You knock on the door and he opens it without a second's delay. He was going to get the newspaper, but you pull it out from under your arm and hand it to him with a nod. He knows what you mean to say and leaves the door open for you while he makes hot cocoa. He knows from the empty look that you had a bad night. The guards ignore you even though they're sitting right on the couch you usually sit on. Somehow it makes you angry. You want to yank their faces over and yell "Look at me! I'm here! I'm not a ghost!". Looking over at him, you think his speeches infected you. You never cared about whether someone looked at you as a person or not before. You were happy to be a breeder. It was fine. A job.

You never cared about anything before. You never cared about yourself, but then words started forming in your head. Live without fear. To be treated fairly. You don't know if you have a claim to any of that; you wouldn't give a table or chair equal rights with a person. You stare him down and he leads you to his room with two steaming mugs of cocoa in his hands. The room is sparse;there isn't a single picture or poster on the walls. He hands you a mug of cocoa and lets you sit in his chair while he stands by the recooperacoon. The warmth of the room is strange and welcoming. You've never felt less...judged.

"I don't think I want to do this any more," you blurt, holding the mug close to your chest. He nods and asks why. "Because...I....." You trail off. You feel stiff and scared and sad;you're so used to letting everything roll off you and playing it cool that you almost feel like you're choking on your words.

"Because you can do nothing? Because they won't let you think for yourself? Because they use you?" He pushes you for just one answer, any one to open the floodgates.

"I feel tiny," you whisper. The way he holds his head high even under the threats you've heard hissed at other disobediants strikes you now more than ever. You don't understand, not yet, the things he has said time and again. You understand and admire his defiance with that small admittance, and suddenly part of his vow makes sense.  
"It's so that you can stay in control, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" he says it softly, though, leading you again into the main room with a gentle but insistent hand.

"The chastity thing." He corrects you,"vow", and you smile a little. He smiles back and tells you that's only a small part of it but that it's true, and you feel like you just learned more than you have in sweeps. You drink most of the cocoa then and there and tell him goodbye, and he pats you on the shoulder and smiles at you again.

When you get home, it feels a little less like...home, but you feel like you're back to your old self, except polished and fixed up in a few places that were starting to rust. You'll go back to visit him again soon, you think. As a friend.


	3. Chapter 3

Dressings and soft cushions line the inside of the curving ledge rising from the wall. The room is cool and dark, and the air smells faintly of salt and seaweed. His eyes reflect the light from the hall when she enters, and his eyes go dark again when the wide door is slipped shut. His stomach is heavy with eggs, and the discomfort is visible in the lines on his face. The tub of seawater next to the brood nest bubbles and froths as the automatic cleaning comes on. The walls sweat crystals in colors beyond belief in the dark. She moves to stand beside the nest and he reaches for her with pained desperation. Her tight-lipped smile eases the creases between his brows, and her reassuring grip on his hand stops the shaking. 

"You'll be laying very soon. It'll be over before you know it," she mumbles with a strange smile, "It gets a little easier every time. Yet...you still refuse to lay without a handler, hmm?" She laughs a little and he shyly nods. She laughs clearly and loudly when he kicks a particularly ugly pillow out of the nest, grinning at his nest-making picks.

Old silk scarves interweave into a net holding lush satin pillows and well-loved wool cushions, holding everything together in a perfect bowl below him. He settles back into the curve of the nest, still holding her hand, and relaxes listening to the quiet slosh of the seawater being filtered in the tub and the breathing beside him. Porrim pats the back of his hand and tells him to start breathing just like she taught him and to get comfortable. She always anticipates the first contraction and helps prepare before even he feels the first egg dropping. She smiles and squeezes his hand when he lurches and whines. She ducks down and grabs a water bottle from under the ledge and forces the lid off with her fangs before holding it to Cronus' mouth. He gulps down the water and gasps, not even caring when he spills a good fifth of the bottle.

"Good, just keep breathing," she coaxes, rubbing over his wrist and knuckles, watching carefully until the oblong shape of an egg drops onto the cushions and rolls to the center of the brood nest. She reaches out and rubs his stretched stomach with a practiced hand, soothing his spasming abdominal muscles and softly telling him when to push, when to breathe, and pausing to pull up a water bottle and shove it at him. He's sweating bullets and clenching every muscle he can by the final egg, but by now he's grinning and wheezing because he forgot to breathe again.

Dopamine and endorphins and adrenaline have flooded his brain by then, and as he relaxes against the cushions once more, Porrim carefully grabs an egg and walks to the seawater. She watches his strange smiling face and shakes her head. That egg is lowered into the warm water, followed by one after another until all five are rotating imperceptibly with the micro currents of the water. She wipes her hands on towels folded by the tub and leaves the room without a sound.

The tiniest clinks of hardening eggshell against the tub or their broodmates made his eyes twitch open again. He was so tired after the ordeal, but he was so full of nature's favorite drugs he might as well have already been asleep. Nobody would bother him for at least two nights, and he could rest and enjoy his post-laying haze on his own time and his own terms. The painful twinges were completely soaked away in chemical joy, and his heart was pounding like he'd just fended off twenty bullsharks and a mako to boot. He would go lay in the tub with the eggs later once he'd calmed down. After that, they were someone else's problem and he never wanted to see them  
again.

\--

You're lying on your own couch watching a mindlessly predictable movie, still too close to your last lay to think of much else, when you hear a throat cleared behind you. You glare over your shoulder for all of a split second before your jaw drops and you sit up right, patting a place next to you on the couch. The bright red sweater he's wearing looks daring but very good, and you tell him so. He actually laughs a little and thanks you while he arranges himself near you on the soft green couch.

"I had my guards lead me to this mansion. I wanted to see how you were doing," he tells you with a concerned look, and you remember the bruises he saw. They're healed by now, which he can see by your exposed arms. And legs. And stomach. Come to think of it, he probably feels pretty uncomfortable sitting next to a guy in a very basic breeder's garb. You suddenly feel almost naked with him looking at you, so you grab a pillow and hold it over your stomach as if you always hugged pillows. "It's absolutely gigantic. I had no idea you lived somewhere so big."

"Yeah, well I just happened to be both a highblood and a breeder," you brush it off and sink into your side of the couch. "Oh, yeah, but I'm doing great!" You brighten. "I actually just laid a five-cluster a couple nights ago, and the quality is A-grade as always." He looks confused so you pat your stomach and grin. "Five healthy eggs, I mean."

He looks like he's trying to be a little happy for you, but also looks upset and uncomfortable and a little angry. He opens and closes his mouth for a long minute and finally chooses his words. "Why would you agree to sire a brood by that general? It's degrading for one, and clearly against your own better judgement given your opinion of him--or am I wrong?--, and thirdly, it only reinforces the objectification of yourself and other 'breeders' as machines for duplicating archetypes!" He snarls a little and you instinctively shudder and shrink behind the pillow. He sees you do it. You have never seen yourself fleeing inside yourself to get away from the angry sting of a whip ingrained into your subconscious, but the look on his face rings true to what you feel. His brows are knit and drawn up, eyes wide but stiff like he wants to screw them up, and he's agape with the corners of his mouth drawn down. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to do that sort of thing. I aggressed towards you, and I can never apologize enough. Please forgive me."

You throw the pillow at him and huff loud enough that he startles out of his seat. You pout until the look disappears. "It's not your fault," you snap, narrowing your eyes at him, "But if you really want to make it up to me, sit over here." You slap the spot next to you and glare until he sits down. He seems confused and almost a startled by your harsh reaction. You turn back to the movie you were watching before he came in and smirk to yourself. Hook, line, and sinker. At least you managed to play the admittedly more awkward than expected situation to your favor. You lean over and rest your head on his shoulder with a satisfied sigh. He stiffens at first, but eventually relaxes and lets you rest against him. The residual hormones from your recent laying tell you he smells amazing, and that the curve of his jaw is perfect. You think that any eggs he sired would be healthier than anything you've seen in your whole life.

He seems disconcerted by the fact that you're...smelling him, and nudges you away. You stick fast with a frustrated harumph, warning him with an angry glare again. He sighs and admits defeat for a second time, surrendering his shoulder to you. "I don't think I'll ever understand you fully," he whispers to you below the sound of the movie hero spout generic lines about pride, honor, patriotism, and glory,"But I want to try. I would never judge you or how you really want to live your life, but I do want to help in any way I can." One half of you is touched and grateful and wants to offer to have him over as a guest, and the other half is immediately overcome by the primal piece of your brain that tells you his subtly muscled arm and smooth neck are hot as hell and you should jump the guy right now. You curse whatever god decided to send him over only shortly after a laying.

"Would you like to stay here with me as a guest?" you ask before growing silence can swallow your rational half. He smiles and nods, and you smile back. "I'll have one of the maids show you to the guest room after the movie's done." He looks uncomfortable at that and you immediately reconsider your idea, but only partially. "Would you rather I show you the guest quarters?"

"Yes, please. I don't know any of these maids, and they give me rather troublesome looks," he explains, "I feel a little triggered by the condescending look, really. I haven't even said anything to them, yet." He looks exasperated just talking about it and you prod his chest.

"Maybe that's why. It's hard to disagree with you once you've spoken, from my experience," you tell him with a smug smile. He looks flustered and adorable from the odd compliment. "You'd be great in politics or cultural movements, you know." He looks shocked at that and you laugh. You hush him when he tries to protest, and eventually he just settles into the couch and watches the movie with more interest than you had anticipated.

\--

Most of the day is spent with his new best friend in the common room hanging all over him, playing with his sweater collars and getting yelled at for it, wrapped up in jackets and jeans to make his guest feel comfortable. Porrim watches the change with amusement and starts making more modest clothes from the black satin bolts in accordance. 

Kankri explores the mansion like a lost dog while followed close behind by Cronus, carefully monitored as he walks in and out of hall upon hall upon room upon room. He seems impressed and simultaneously angered by everything he sees, including the servant quarters. He comments on everything he finds wasteful or useless without pause, even though he apologizes after. Cronus is only amused by it all, happy to watch him cataloging every item, and more than happy to watch him walk down the hall from behind. After a while, he can't blame his brood for his admiration for the smooth way that Kankri moves or the way he loves listening to him rant on and on endlessly about this and that.

The highblood supervisor in the mansion sees Kankri running about and always makes a point of looking down at him, but otherwise seems fine with his presence. He pulls cronus away when Kankri wanders down a hall by his office.

"It looks as though you've managed to prove you are, in fact, smarter than you look," he hisses down at the breeder, "You managed to wrangle him here, rather than keep visiting that scumhole he belongs in. Now he's on a tight leash, and you'll be on constant visit status until you breed that sorry waste of space for god knows what reason the empress put that obnoxious little mutant on the list for." He chortles even though he's scowling.

"Sir?" Cronus says, curling the end of the word like a question. When the highblood starts to ask him what it is, Cronus quickly pops him one right in the middle of his face, running down the hall and out of sight before he can grab hold of him and reprimand him. He can still hear the cursing and screaming from the office when he reaches Kankri, though.

"What was that?" Kankri asks, and Cronus drags him off to the servant quarters. He shoves Kankri into Porrim's room and begs Porrim to go reason with the supervisor. He takes her outside the room and whispers that he tried to hurt Kankri, and he wants her to talk some sense into the nutjob in the office, that he was just defending his friend, that the supervisor is guaranteed to lie to her. She seems bewildered but agrees, and Cronus hides in her room with Kankri happily talking about her gorgeous clothing designs and weird books until she comes back.

"I'm not sure what just happened," she admits,"But I may have kicked our friend in a rather sensitive place." She smiles and Cronus laughs, but Kankri looks worried. "Self-defense!" she proclaims, at which Cronus doubles over laughing, and she hides a rather ungraceful snort behind her hand. When he stops laughing, she points at him. "I saw through your little move. You're damn lucky I covered you, Cronus," she warns, tutting. He grins at her and throws an arm around Kankri. Kankri looks at him with confusion and dismay, shying away from his arm, but Porrim sits on his other side and he just gives up and accepts the draping arm.


	4. Chapter 4

Sleeping isn't restful at all right now. You sit up, covered in sopor slime, and lift yourself out of the recooperacoon with numb limbs. You rinse off in your bathroom and towel off before throwing on an old pair of pajamas. You walk out into the hall and head to your left, toward the servant quarters. Your feet automatically take you to Porrim's door, and you lift your hand to open the door, but you pause. You've been coming to bother your handler for sweeps, especially when you couldn't sleep. Maybe it was time to give her a little break. You turn and head to the guest wing instead, and try a few rooms before you remember which one Kankri is staying in.

You knock. "Come in, I can't sleep either," returns a soft voice, "Thank you for knocking." You let yourself in and close the door, identifying the figure slumped on the rim of the recooperacoon as Kankri. You carefully make your way over to him and reach out, touching his bare arm while trying to figure out how far away you still are. He flinches, but relaxes again before you've even managed to pull your hand away. You hear him sigh and feel a hand on top of yours while it rests against his bicep. He's not athletic, but not completely soft either. He's a nice, lithe mix. You think you see light reflecting off teeth, which means he must be smiling. "I'm sure that there's something on your mind."

"Yeah," you agree, stepping closer so your arm isn't so stretched out. He lets go of your hand and it falls to your side. The silence isn't uncomfortable. It feels... warm and accepting, like it did in his apartment. 

"If you don't want to say anything about it, I would like to," he says, and you nod. It takes a moment to realize he probably couldn't see you, so you tell him that it's okay. You see a short flash of light that you take to be another smile. He's smiling a lot more nowadays, you think. More sincerely, anyway. "Alright. As a preface, I want to state that these are my personal inferences and feelings. I apologize if I've misinterpreted anything." He clears his throat and shifts. "Over the times we've met, I first observed you to be a self-absorbed pampered member of royalty, and I attempted to educate you. While I did teach you, I believe, I was also wrong in that you were not the stereotypical royal I mistakenly judged you to be. Even I am guilty of stereotyping, and I'm terribly ashamed of doing so. I hope you accept my apology for the uninformed image I made of you. I think that you may have given me a better idea of the different types of suffering, and you respected my barriers. I want to help you to achieve the sort of life you want, because true friends are supportive of each other."

"Ah, yeah. Friends are good like that," you agree again, folding your arms and admiring your feet that you can't see. You feel a light, dancing warmth in front of your face and put out your hand, accidentally scratching his palm. He was feeling for you, you guess. You snicker and move his hand over to your shoulder, because you think that's what he was aiming for. His hands feel so warm and soothing, you think to yourself. He pulls his hand away from yours, and you feel anguish until it returns, sliding up your neck until it gets to your jaw, and he gently strokes your face. It feels strange, but you like it anyways.

"As I've grown to know you better, I've really come to like you. If you have any such feelings for me, I'd like it if we could...Well, would you perhaps be feeling a bit flushed for me?" He's less composed than usual, and you like the small quaver in his voice. He runs his thumb over your cheekbone and you want to kiss him.

==>Kiss the boy!

You abruptly lean in and find his mouth by the small flashes of light and press your lips together, reaching out and holding his face the same way he's holding yours. You feel tension and nervous energy under his skin. His lips are soft and warm, and you desperately want to do so much more, but you've learned enough about him to know that less is more. His hand is shaky as you pull away, and you're about to say something to him when he leans forward and kisses you again of his own accord. You wrap your free arm around his shoulders, ignoring the tacky sopor slime still clinging to his body. He's completely novice, and you think 'of course' and gently nip at his lip to tell him to stop. He freezes where he is, amazingly considerate as always. You demonstrate the proper technique for a gentle kiss and he copies it. Before long he kisses as well as you do, and you greedily suck up the affection for what feels like hours(though it was hardly more than a few minutes) until he nips you.

"I think you really ought to try to get some rest, even if you are an energetic person," he suggests,"If you can't sleep on your own, this recooperacoon is very large. I'm sure I can make room." He hardly gets the last sentence out before you're climbing up and happily snuggling in beside him. Less is more, you tell yourself as he settles in beside you and rests his head on your shoulder. You don't need to see his face to know that he could not be more satisfied with his night.

\--

Two chairs are placed on one side of the table and two places are set, unlike the normal single place setting, and Porrim's usual spot opposite is set up normally opposite them. She's prodding her french toast with her fork, watching the dining room doorway with annoyance until two slim figures entered side by side.

"Nice of you to join us," She calls slyly as she gestured to their close-set places. She watches Cronus practically divebomb the enticing breakfast, running over and jumping into his chair. Meanwhile, Kankri makes his way to his place with the faintest traces of a smile, sitting himself delicately in the plush chair beside Cronus. "Now eat it before it turns into mush." She didn't even need to tell Cronus, considering he was already hacking away at the french toast and taking bites when he freed an almost reasonably small portion. Kankri cuts even little bite-sized squares out of his portion, wiping at his mouth after every few bites. She compares the two radically different styles with a smirk, and has to excuse herself when Kankri worries aloud for Cronus' health and safety with the way he practically inhales the toast.

Cronus not-so-sneakily steals a few squares of Kankri's french toast and pops them into his mouth, laughing at the irritation evident when Kankri can't do the same. He already ate all of his share, so he gets up and pushes his chair in and tells Kankri he'll be in his room if he needs him. Kankri nods and returns to his remaining food for the time being.

His desktop greets him with cheery jingles when he returns to his room. He checks his messages and finds that Her Imperious Condescension herself left him a birthday e-card sometime since he last checked his mail. It is expectedly blunt and generic, but with an added sentiment that he should keep the good work up. He scowls and deletes it, noting that the date was completely different from the date in the tiny info box in the control panel. He guesses he probably brooded and regretted being hatched enough on whatever day it was anyways. He checks a few message boards and answers questions left to him on his blog, which always surprise him in their number. People seem to be really curious about the ins and outs of the lives of breeders. Cronus only found out almost a sweep into running his little blog that prying into anything even marginally relating to the empire and its assets usually got the questioner de-tongued if not beheaded. He finished up and logged off, spinning in his little office style chair for a few minutes. He got up and checked outside his door and found Kankri patiently waiting in the hall.

After explaining that he could just walk right in, they go to the common room and watch yet another generic military drama. Cronus just watches them because he can't think of what else to watch, but Kankri watches with genuine intrigue. They assume the typical couple form, one leaning against the other, arm around their shoulders.

\--

You're lying against him, head tucked under his chin while you tell him all about the different types of people you get assigned to. He cringes a lot, which you can feel through his jaw, but he keeps asking you to keep going anyway. He says he wants to know the truth and to know more about you. You list off all the types by occupation and personality, beginning with the kind miracle doctors, shifting through categories into the bored in-out law professionals, and finally into the hard-handed military types who seem to enjoy watching people wilt into a hollow shell. He runs a hand down your arm until he finds your wrist and gently rubs the soft skin there. You almost can't handle how sweet and caring he is, asking you to tell him your problems and trying to will your pain away with words of advice and encouragement.

"It's not something to freak out about," you inform him matter-of-factly, "It's how things are." He wraps his arms over your chest and makes a discontent noise. You reach up and stroke the side of his face. "You care, and that's more than I'd ask for from anyone." You hum and twirl his hair between your fingers, look up at his sad smile. He dips his head and kisses your forehead, hugging you while holding you in his lap. You feel enveloped in calm compassion. You scoot up and turn, kissing him as best you can given the angle. He flushes bright red and kisses the corner of your mouth like a full kiss would violate you.

You decide to take a risk. You lift yourself off his lap and maneuver to straddle his legs. He only looks a little bit more nervous than before. You run a hand through his his mane of hair and kiss him, trying not to smile when he eagerly reciprocates. You pause to press your tongue against his lips, and he shakily lets you into his mouth. You can feel his heart hammering against your chest. It's too cute. You try to entice his tongue into doing the same with strokes and pulls, but his inexperience makes it difficult and frustrating to get your message across. It's worth it, considering his face feels like a furnace and his hands are uncertainly wandering around your hips. You grind them down ever so gently and he freezes.

He pulls back and softly but insistently pushes you back. "I-I'm not comfortable with this," he stutters, face beet-red and shoulders drawn up. "I'm sorry if I made it seem like...Please, you understand, I've explained my vow to you." You nod. It's disappointing, but you do understand. You don't know what you were thinking. You probably weren't thinking. You sit with one shoulder touching his until he finally relaxes again;his warm body invites you to crawl back into his lap and you snuggle until you accidentally drift off.

When you wake up, he's cradling you in his lap like a fragile egg. You smile up at him and he smiles sweetly back. You apologize for drooling on his sweater and he waves it off, telling you to go get something to eat because your stomach was growling in your sleep. You laugh and agree, staggering up and winking at him as you turn to leave, savoring the blush that briefly rose in his cheeks.

The hall is quiet and still, and your steps mute themselves in the plush carpet. You wander toward the kitchen with snacks on your mind, stomach rumbling. You pass a dark-eyed maid in the doorway, bowl full of grapes clasped in one hand. You shrug and quickly fix yourself a ham sandwich to soften the sting of hunger pangs. As you eat it by the counter, you feel prickling in the back of your neck. You rinse the last of the taste of it out of your mouth with a glass of water and turn to observe the empty doorway. As you exit you feel a sudden blooming heat on one side of your face and a sharp line of pain on the other, and you're lying on the linoleum staring disjointedly at the fridge and trying to roll onto your side so you can sit up and figure out what the hell just happened. A heavy block of agony slams into your exposed stomach, forcing you to curl in on yourself while you cough and hack and whine. A large hand lifts you up just enough by the shirt collar to see your supervisor placidly examining your bruised cheeks. 

"They'll heal," he informs you, dropping you back onto the floor. You sputter and say something, pleading against pain, but you feel another explosion against your stomach and wheeze. You try again and feel a third slam against your stomach and vomit your sandwich back up on the floor. "Did you really think I would let you just get away with that? You ungrateful little shit, you don't even deserve to carry eggs for a scumblooded freak. I'll bet you the Highland General would pay good money for your worthless, bratty little ass. We'll have to write it off as a rebel attack or something, but a few maids can be replaced." He snarls at you and you whimper pathetically, clutching desperately at your stomach. It hurts to think, but you would rather die than get shipped off to the general of all people.

A shoe sails overhead in slow motion. You choke and watch it land on one of the counters. He drops you and straightens, striking viciously with his boot one last time before he slammed an arm out of the doorway and out of view. You sputter and gasp, rolling over and struggling for breath through thick violet tears. You hear yelling and laughing and another couple slams. Bare feet hop around you and toward the cutlery rack. You don't get it. The laughing stops and you can finally breath again, but it hurts a lot. Someone hooks their hands under your arms and drags you around a giant black and grey lump in the middle of the floor and down the hall. You hear screams you would describe as desperate, followed by shrieking and footsteps all over the place. You let yourself zone out and fall into a dreamless sleep.

\--

A paring knife, steak knife, and fork were sticking out of the Highblood's front. He was alive, but in shock. Porrim stopped Kankri when he moved to remove the knives, telling him they could defend assault but not murder of a highblood. He left her and the less squeamish maids to hoist the giant man and carry him into the foyer to wait for emergency services. 

Cronus was lying on the couch--draped, rather--and looked dead to the world. Kankri panicked and shook him, squeezing his shoulder and chewing on his lip nervously. He caught the slight rise and fall of his chest after staring in dread for an eternity in seconds and sat beside him on the couch with a relieved sigh. He slipped Cronus' hand into his own and watched him sleep through the worst of the pain.


	5. Chapter 5

It's only been a few nights, but your stomach hardly hurts any more. Porrim had been looking at you sadly the whole time, but you hardly noticed with the way Kankri was constantly questioning you about your pain level and bruising and whether you were feeling better for sure or you were just saying it to make him feel better. You heard that Kankri had gotten worried about how long you were taking and gone looking for you and ended up rescuing you. You've been peppering him with kisses and little exclamations of "my knight in shining armor!" every time you got the chance. He blushes without fail.

You have him cuddling you with unprecedented ferocity, and even away from prying eyes it embarrasses you. You get that he's worried about you, but you feel like you're being smothered. You shake his shoulder to get his attention while you squirm to liberation not an inch away. He looks sort of hurt, so you coo at him until he goes back to just holding your hand and you giggle. He's too precious, he really is. He leans over and kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand tight. You press your lips against his before he gets the chance to turn back, cool skin against warm. You feel his hand on your hip, small and light through the fabric. When you part your lips to offer up your mouth, he takes the opportunity without question. He's better at it now, tongue sensually flicking against yours through hot, humid air. Sliding your free hand under the hem of his sweater, you gauge his reaction with your fingers, exploring his stomach and tracing his ribs while you wait for him to push you away again.  
He doesn't.

The thought that he might not reject you if you go a little further is too tempting, and you slip your hand out of his as you crawl into his lap. His eyes flick open and shift down. He knows what you're aiming for, clearly, but he hasn't pushed you away yet. His cheeks are red and fire-hot, and the hand on your hip shakes slightly as it slides up to your hip unsurely. You grind your hips down against his, slow and hesitant. You steel yourself to be pushed back and told no again. He breaks the kiss and watches you strangely, eyes unfocused and wide. You rest your hands on his shoulders, wondering if he's alright. He opens and closes his mouth blankly, blinking hard.

"I..." He licks his lips and looks away shyly. "I don't want our relationship to center on sex. You've spent your whole life being objectified and abused by people and forced into situations in that clearly make you uncomfortable! The psychological damage they've inflicted on you is obvious, and I couldn't bare to see us devolving into some amalgamation of unhappy memories and unconscious abuse because of a stupid decision made on a whim! I can't possibly know everything you've gone through, but you have to tell me whether this is what you really want." He breathes deeply and wraps his arms around you, touching your foreheads together. "I don't want this to be a mistake."

"It's not. Are you saying that you're willing to change your mind?" You smile at him and and lace your fingers together behind him. "It wouldn't scar me or make me think any less of you. Do you trust me?" He nods and shivers, holding you a little too tightly. "You're going to have to let go of me," you tell him with a laugh. Reluctantly, he opens his arms and drops them. You move away from him and stand, pulling him up with you. The futon in your room faces the small television mounted on the wall. It's less fancy, so you don't use it much at all. He sits on the sofa and you sit beside him, hand on his thigh. He blushes again and chews on his nail nervously. 

"I want you to be happy," he mumbles, leaning against you with his head on your shoulder like before. You grin at him and tell him you are. You heard about how he tried to protect you. You kiss, running your hands up his sides and over his legs, caressing the soft skin under his sweater. He tries to copy you, but he's clumsy until you take his hands and show him how to do it. His fingers dance up your spine and you shiver, letting him knead the muscles of your back until you're slumped against him and humming against his neck. You tug up the hem of his sweater and lean all your weight on him, pressing him flat on the futon and smiling down at him. His sweater is bunched and rolled up under his chin in a mock-scarf; a pretty red band across his collarbone. It's hard not to sit and stare, but you can enjoy the sight later. You pull the sweater over his head and drop it on the floor. He returns the favor, yanking your shirt up and navigating around your horns until he can toss it at the far wall. He surges up and licks and nips and sucks at your neck, hot red skin burning against yours. 

"Don't rush," you tell him, pushing him down again and stroking his hair. He sighs and appears to resign control to you, warily watching you. His jeans are still on. That's a big problem. You drag your hands across his thighs, teasingly thumbing the rising bulge in his pants and popping the button on his jeans. He helps by shimmying them down and kicking them off, happy to have his pants out of the picture. You get rid of yours similarly, though they take your briefs with them to the floor. He stares open-mouthed and tenderly rubs the partially emerged bulge, amazed by the serpentine movements and slick form. You shiver and cock your eyebrow at him. "You're kidding, right?" He doesn't pay any attention, teasing it out with loving strokes and watching it move with absolute reverence. "Oh, for...." Blood is rushing to your face and down below, so you let it slide in favor of freeing his bulge.

He sucks in air and rolls his hips towards your wandering fingers, shivering and palming you while you drag his boxers down. His bulge is unexpectedly thick, engorged with blood and curls inquisitively in the air. It's hard to think with his hands all over you, but you lock lips and grind down into his hand, happily letting his bulge writhe and twitch between your fingers. He's groaning into your mouth and trying his best to get you to do the same, but the rough grinding is getting uncomfortable and you remove his hand reluctantly. He pauses and puts a finger to your lips. You instinctively try to suck on it but he pulls it away and shakes his head.

"I think you...should have control of this," He mumbles hazily, "You're...mistreated;I want to treat you well." He raises a leg and hooks it over your hip, examining your face closely. "Please...?" You can't possibly say no, even though there was no way someone like him could treat you badly. You move closer, letting your bulges twine and slide against each other, but he tilts his hips up and makes a frustrated noise. He really does want to go all the way after all. You bury your face in his flushed neck and tentatively feel out the opening of his nook, savoring the impatient whines. Slowly, you press in, pausing to let him adjust every now and again and gently stroking his bulge. Once you're halfway in, he bucks his hips hard enough to jam you the rest of the way in, making you wheeze at the unexpected pressure and heat, and he makes a noise somewhere between pained and intensely satisfied. You pull back you reorient yourself after that surprise and jerk your hips forward when you're sure he's ready. Panting, he urges you on, and you rock into him until he can't stop moaning.

He drags your face to his and sloppily mashes your mouths together, one hand greedily groping your ass while the other digs into your hair. You support yourself with the hand that isn't occupied by his bulge and dig your claws into the futon. You moan and grunt shamelessly along with him, snapping your hips to his in a half-beat rhythm. His eyes are watering, and he pleads incoherently with every other thrust. You're not at all sure why, but you lead his bulge back and coax it into your nook quickly. The sensation has you gasping and desperately pistoning back and forth, drowning in intoxicating pleasure and gasped shouts of your name. You hardly know what you're doing, but you yank out the small pail you keep hidden under the futon without a second to spare, dragging his hips up with yours and quaking with the veritable flood gushing from the both of you. The pail can't hold all of it, but it holds enough that you feel less grossed out than you would otherwise after you slow down and settle into the cushiony futon. He's breathless and thoroughly out of it, dewy-eyed and shaking with the biggest grin you've ever seen him wear. You laugh tiredly and let your bulges retract, relishing the furnace of heat in his core.

"Thanks," you whisper, your head tucked under his,"For trusting me...like this." He nods weakly and wraps his arms around you. You smile and lie with him until you start to drift out of consciousness. You lazily pick yourself up and drag him with you, muttering about recooperacoons and post-sex naps. He yawns and agrees, climbing into your large royal-size recooperacoon after you. Odd that his first time would be your best, though not as much with all things considered. You make a mental note to ask him about the whole thing and some of the things he said during it later. He said things like "I love you so much!" rather than dirty things like most of the people he had met did...It was somehow more exciting and...reassuring. You sleep better than you have in sweeps that day.

\--

Porrim says nothing at the table, but raises her eyebrows and smiles slyly. Cronus shoots her a dirty look while Kankri shoves a forkful of scrambled egg into his mouth. The meal is uncomfortably silent until she finally speaks her mind.

"I don't disapprove of your antics, but some of us would like to request you keep it down when you decide to get frisky," she remarks, examining her nails. Kankri chokes and looks scandalized, glancing at Cronus. She smirks, looking back up. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for you." She snickers at Cronus' irritation, and he rolls his eyes at her.

"That's just about the only thing you can't possibly punish me for," he scoffs. Kankri pulls his sweater collar up to hide his tomato-red face, sinking into his seat. "Anyways, you're temporarily taking over for the supervisor, right? How long do you think you'll be in his position?" He puts his feet up, much to her distaste. He throws his hands up and puts his feet back down. She stops glaring and sits back, thinking.

"He did sustain three deep knife-wounds...Considering one breached the stomach cavity, he'll need a few weeks," she said ponderously, gazing at the two of them. Kankri mumbled an apology and scooted his chair closer to Cronus'. "It's perfectly fine; He really needed to be taught a lesson. Whether or not he'll be any better upon his return is questionable, but I hope for your sakes that either being beaten changed him, or that he flatlines." Kankri looked ashamed and scared, huddling even closer to Cronus.

"Well...You're the best option available, so I guess that'll do," Cronus sighs and rests his head in his hands. Porrim lifts her chin and wipes her mouth delicately with her napkin. "If you can...I'd appreciate it if you could at least cut the less savoury types from my schedule. I don't need a reduced visit list, I just would really like it if you could...improve its quality, maybe?" Looking pleadily at her, he smiles softly. She nods softly and steeples her hands.

"The Highland General was officially blacklisted as of this evening, as well as several other people. They cannot have their blacklisted status removed, so there's no reason to worry," she nods and thinks again. "There are always others, however...We really will have to hope that he either dies or is found unfit for continued service. I do have the most experience dealing with you, so I have a favorable chance of replacing him in either case." Cronus hums agreeably and puts an arm around Kankri's shoulders. Porrim smiles at that and folds her hands. "I would be happy to schedule you together at peak productivity times, of course submitting that strong quadrant pairs produce even higher quality eggs. They'll love that." She laughs and excuses herself, patting them both on the back as she leaves. Kankri looks questioningly at Cronus, grabbing his hand under the table.

Porrim empties out folders from the supervisor's desk and calmly tears up each page inside until the desk was covered in shreds of paper. She sweeps the piles into the bin along with his personal items. She pulls out fresh, unlabeled folders from the cabinet behind the desk and writes BLACKLISTED on one, and the names of each listed individual on the rest. She puts a new paper down on the blotter and begins with a description of each breach of code committed by the infamous general. It takes herover two hours to finish the sheets for severe infractions by each individual blacklisted, and a third hour to list moderate infractions and misdemeanors. The top listed reason for inclusion is brood-mongering, not the mental and physical abuse dealt to the breeder. She sighs wearily and files them away in the desk drawer. The office is large and lavish; purple irises sit in ornate glass vases on the desk while magenta roses proudly stand on top of the cabinet, backed by a broad sign of the empress. The chairs in front of the desk are somewhat short, but plush and richly colored. A wide purple couch sits against the wall with a large mahogany table in front of it. A few bottles of wine of noticeably pricey date and type stand on the table along with pens and paper. She makes a mental note to replace everything with more tastefully  
subtle items as soon as possible, regardless of whether or not she keeps the job.

Cronus holds Kankri to his chest while they pretend to watch yet another boringly predictable drama on tv. Kankri asks him if they'll be alright, and Cronus says they might have to go through some rough times but they'll survive. Kankri smiles and curls against him, running a hand through his hair.

"I hope I can make your life a little more bearable," Kankri says, lacing their fingers together.

"I didn't know what I was missing out on before," Cronus admits with a laugh,"I'm happier with you than I've ever been." He kisses Kankri on the top of the head and holds him tightly. They look at the on-screen explosions with melancholy looks and enjoy their quiet night together.


End file.
